


Let Us Outlive the Wolves

by asiriuswriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asiriuswriter/pseuds/asiriuswriter
Summary: The First Wizarding War is difficult to face alone. When Sirius's best friend marries the girl of his dreams, he feels more secluded than ever. Living alone, losing a brother he hadn't spoken to in years, questioning even his closest friend's motives, and facing the threat of death is no simple task. When he starts receiving letters from a familiar stranger, he takes comfort in their open honesty and comforting words, but without knowing who they are, he questions their motives.Meanwhile, Remus feels stuck in a world not designed for him. There are few people he can trust, but he longs for connections. It was once easy to lose himself in the world of his friends; but with war making everyone a possible enemy, trusting even them proves difficult.Sometimes the comfort and affection required during difficult time is staring you right in the face- but recognizing it might be more difficult than one could imagine.





	1. Wolves and Constellations

_Let us outlive the wolves._

He pressed a flat palm against the moving pictures splayed across a worn newspaper thrown carelessly on his littered coffee table, half expecting his flesh to sink through the page to touch the faces of the dead.

So many of them gone now.

_Regulus Black._

That one had been difficult to swallow.

_Orion Black._

That one easier.

 _Benjy Fenwick._  
Nine Muggles.  
Ian Bones.

Sirius rolled up the sleeves on his white, button-down shirt leftover from the previous night's party. James's wedding to _the_ Lily Evans had been but a temporary distraction to the here and the now and he was happy- _jealous,_ in so many ways- but happy for his first _real_ friend's blessing in time of war.

 _Somehow_ , he managed to evade a hangover and felt more alert than he had in weeks despite what little sleep he'd gotten after drinking and singing and toasting and dancing all night to the music _he_ had been trusted to choose for the most important day of James and Lily's combined lives. A mix of Muggle and magical, the playlist was a hit, and pride over his musical knowledge made him smile, even now, as he undressed right there in the living room. 

It was in the shittiest flat this side of the Thames that Sirius Black paid rent with help from his newly wed best mate and a crappy job at a record shop downtown. Peter and Remus still lived with their parents and despite Sirius's _incessant_ pleading with _either_ of them to keep him company on lonely nights, they refused to dish out the dough for a place that's insulation so thoroughly lacked that no amount of cooling or heating spells would keep their bodies comfortable as Winter turned to Spring turned to Summer. Remus, the responsible one, claimed he'd rather pay a mortgage than rent- which was for what he saved, and Peter, the one obsessed with Order work, had no steady income to even _attempt_ to contribute towards a place of his own, and thus Sirius was alone.

The wrinkled white shirt fell in a crumble to the floor as he undid his belt and dropped trouser to flop down on the dusty old couch donated to him by Alastor Moody with a muttered _'don' much need it, son, take it or chuck it.'_

His eyes landed on a typed letter from someone simply signed as ' _friend.'_ These letters came by way of old, post office owls and had been _typed_ on a _goddamn_ typewriter. It was _possible_ to trace the owl, but the first letter he'd ever received told him not to try and, for some reason, he listened to the mysterious stranger. Always did he want to write back, but he hadn't yet tried.

Before Regulus died, Sirius assumed the letters were from him; a secret way for the estranged brothers to communicate after all these years, for the softer of the Black brothers to reach out to the big brother he'd always adored. But after his death, they continued to arrive mysteriously at his window whenever he was home, and though the thought lingered on his mind that _maybe_ Regulus wasn't _actually_ dead, he disconnected the person behind the typed words from his brother. It was too painful to think about.

_Fireworks blaze into red constellations... What_ _is the future?_

Sirius's stretching body distorted deep scars along his sides and the one tattoo he currently sported of a dog-paw on his chest, and he laid down. Still early, he'd woke to sip a glass of water and take a piss, and knew he needed to sleep or that hangover and nausea would kick in when focus was required _every single fucking day **just in case**_ they attacked.

The couch was cramped and he was in fetal position, bare body exposed to the warmth of his flat, eyes closed for a few long moments before he reached out for the letter on his table. It'd arrived just before James's wedding and he hadn't the chance to understand what it meant.

_Hi mate,_

( **it was how they _always_** **started these letters to him** )

_I've been thinking a lot about numbers and how strange it is to count down to things we look forward to. It's like how they count down to a bomb. Time, it feels so fragile lately, because it is. I think it's because I am so aware of my own mortality now that I've tasted death. I know you'll understand that, somehow. But there's this weird survival instinct that I think we're all born with, no matter how bad things get._

_Let us outlive the wolves._

_Anyway. I know you're not going to answer because you haven't yet and I don't know that you even could given you don't know who I am, but I want to ask you if you've been reading lately. Because if you haven't, you should. I'm thinking about sending you a book. I hope that's not weird._

_I hope you're okay. I don't think many people are okay these days but I hope more parts of your day are happy than they are bad._

_I know you don't know who I am. But sometimes I think about the families that came before us that broke in these boots so that we could appreciate the skyline. Fireworks blaze into red constellations... What is the future?_

_I'm tired and nervous and I just had to write to you because you make me feel better._

_I've got to go._

_But if you haven't been reading, you should._

_Sincerely,  
Friend_

Sirius allowed the single piece of parchment to fall back on the messy coffee table. It rested against an empty takeout container and he rolled over, chasing sleep.


	2. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a slow morning the day after his best friend's wedding. Sirius is exhausted and depressed because he is hyper-aware of his own solitude. Like clockwork, an owl arrives at just the right time to help him snap out of his self-loathing (which he knows was never cute on him, anyway).

It was with someone else's sock that he wiped the counter clean.

Water marks from full beverages he'd forgotten to wash that week stained slate linoleum. Like everything in his flat, his counter was an equal mix of purple and green pigments that tricked the eye into naming it _gray._

Sirius's long fingers- the one's his mother claimed were _perfect_ for practicing the piano despite his exaggerated roll of the eyes- held a brown tea kettle- one that Remus brought over _specifically_ to leave here because that git _loved_ his tea- beneath the running tap. It grew heavy in his hand as his eyes, the same color as everything, stared out the window above his kitchen sink. He was on the third floor but had only the view of another building to admire. At least it was quiet here, in this barely inhabited part of Muggle London, in his third floor flat. So quiet that his eyes, somehow _more_ exhausted after another four hours of sleep, went into a trance as they studied the popcorn concrete of the adjacent building until the kettle overflowed and splashed water against an aluminum sink. Sirius jerked, twisted the knob _off_ and poured out excess water before plopping the kettle over the open burner of his Muggle stove ( _because_ sometimes it was better to do things the _Muggle_ way- or so he'd told his mother _just_ to piss her off so many years ago. _God,_ why was she on his mind so much today? He could see her now. Sitting in ~~their~~ her rickety but massive old house, alone but for her wretched House Elf. No sons. No husband. He _almost_ felt sorry for her). Dripping water sizzled over the heat and he stepped away, exhaling a sigh as he leaned against the counter, waiting.

This whole _living alone_ thing had never felt more solitary than it did right now; now that James was married, likely already laying out on the beach, his pasty white skin practically glowing under the hot sun of Mediterranean. It'd be a short honeymoon for the newlyweds were _far_ too dedicated to their Order work to stay away for long. His other mates, they were busy, too. Remus, with his job in a Muggle museum gift shop and his twice-a-week classes taken at a Muggle university because he didn't think he'd _ever_ be able to land a _real_ job in the Wizarding world, what with his _condition_ and all; and Peter, working himself to the _bone_ with Order of the Phoenix duties. It was almost _obsessive_ how Peter had gotten about the whole thing. He was the last one they'd expected to take it so seriously with his abundant laziness in school, but maybe it was just the kind of purpose he needed to feel fulfilled. Regardless, his three closest going off, having their own _things_ and _lives_ and _goals_ made Sirius feel _that much more_ abandoned.

Just as he was about to get _real_ depressed and feel _real_ sorry for himself, a soft tapping against the window cast him from his sorry state and Sirius turned, throwing open the kitchen window to allow in a post office owl. He untied the parchment attached to its leg and fed it a nibble of cornflakes from the box of cereal he'd taken out for breakfast, and watched as it took off again. When he unrolled it the letter, Sirius knew _instantly_ this was from _Friend._ It was typed in that now familiar font and for the first time since the previous night, he smiled.

Perhaps he was less alone than he thought.

The kettle screamed beside him and Sirius placed the parchment on the table to read over breakfast before getting his tea and cereal situated to sit down and _enjoy_ the morning in solitude.

_Hi mate,_

_I know I'm writing you more often lately, and I think I know the reason, but I won't bore you with the details just now. Part of me wonders if you are even getting these or bothering to read them, though I think you are._

_You ever just feel alone, even if you have a hundred people around you telling you that they love you? That's how I've been feeling lately. I think war does that. It makes you question a lot of things. Like how much time you have left to do the things you want to do. I know I've been writing you about mortality a lot, but bear with me. I promise there's a point. I know things are unpredictable but sometimes I think time is running out and there's a lot I haven't experienced, you know? I don't know if I'll make it till I am old and gray. I want to. We'll see, I guess._

_Anyway, the whole feeling alone thing. War does it, I swear. We're wrapped up in it, this whole division cut across our world. Wrapped up in fear and uncertainty. It's hard to make plans and I think that's also a part of it. Not wanting to feel too much attachment, right? Plus it's hard to trust people. It really is._

_Once, in school, I saw this girl sitting by herself at breakfast; which isn't exactly weird because lots of people eat breakfast alone since we all had different schedules, but she looked pretty sad. I forgot about her until I saw her again, at lunch, eating alone. And then again at dinner. I always wanted to sit with her, but it was difficult because I had my own responsibilities and friends. Anyway, I think about her a lot. I wonder if she's still alone and I wonder if how I am feeling now is how she always felt when she sat alone in a crowded space. I saw her after that, sometimes with people, but usually alone. That always stuck with me for some reason._

_I really hope you've been reading. I'm sending you that book, I promise. I want you to read it._

_Anyway, I hope you have a good day, Sirius. I really do._

_Sincerely,  
Friend_

The tip of his tongue bubbled from the boiling water of his tea and Sirius chewed down against the flesh as he set the parchment down.

This _friend,_ they were different. He could not figure out who it may be. They didn't _sound_ like anyone he knew, but they _knew him._ They knew his name and seemed concerned for him and that was enough to make him save each letter. There were nine now, counting this one. He tried not to assume or figure it out because there was something about _not knowing_ that made it better, that made him feel strangely _less_ alone.

Sirius chucked out his barely-eaten cornflakes in favor of a cigarette as he wandered through his flat in nothing but his skivvies. The cigarette barely clung to his lips, filling the confined space with the scent of smoke and chemicals, and he started picking up for the first time in two weeks. It was _exhausting_ living in his own filth. The trash can quickly filled to the brim with take out containers, empty styrofoam cups, cigarette butts, and bottles.

 _Gods_ , he needed a better diet.

He was sick and fucking tired of feeling sorry for himself.

With his flat in _slightly_ better condition, he felt better. A pair of jeans laid haphazardly against the back of his couch and he gave them a sniff- they were _alright-_ and tugged them on over last night's briefs before he settled on a tight, black _Sex Pistols_ shirt. Sporting a pair of black boots, he left with nothing else but his wand for safety, and a pair of aviators, because he was _cool like that,_ and made his way to the Lupin's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Thank you so much for reading :) I hope you like it! I know this one's a bit slow, but Sirius was so depressed he wouldn't let me kick him into gear. ;)


	3. Promises and Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius shows up at Remus's door with demands. Remus reminds Sirius of the previous night's drunken debauchery and they decide to start their day with a little field trip.

"You're awake."

The back of his head felt itchy in that way that it feels after a restless night's sleep that's a direct result of heavy drink and late night partying. Without a shower or proper breakfast in the mid-summer's heat, he felt distinctly unclean, but not so unclean and un-rested that he would let it impact his day. Sirius, ever the one to milk up his pains, shrugged a loose shoulder.

"'Course I'm awake. It's what-- almost noon?"

Remus stared, mouth slightly agape through his lopsided smirk, green eyes daring between Sirius's.

"Alrigh', fine. S'early for me. Shouldn't you be _proud_ I dragged my sorry arse out've bed to come and visit _you,_ my most _darling_ , precious little Moony, so _early_ in the morn'?" Sirius poked Remus's bony shoulder. Once so full of muscle and strength, his best mate had withered to near-frailty. It was the rough full moons, he'd claimed. The war. But Sirius knew better. He'd stopped eating so much, stopped taking care of himself. Post-Hogwarts life was depressing and nothing like they'd once imagined.

 _We'll get a house together!_  
          'Course we will. Drink every night. Bring girls home.  
      Where will we work?  
           Who cares? As long as we work together.  
                 Let's make a pact.  
           Aye. What kind've pact, Pettigrew?  
                 I donno. To stick by one another, work together, live together once we're out've here.  
           Sounds like a plan. But I ain't sharing room with Black.  
   Oi! What's wrong with that?  
           Mate, we've shared a room with you for six years. Don't subject us to more.   
   Says you with your late-night bullshit. **Ohhh Evans. Mmmmm....** Ow! The fuck, mate? ****  
Shut up. It's settled.  
        It's settled.  
   It's settled.  
                 It's settled. 

"Yeah yeah. Oh so proud, me. Think I'll go carve you a metal out a solid brick of gold," Remus rolled his eyes but stepped aside anyway, allowing Sirius into the small but cozy home of Hope and Lyall. "Dad's working. Mum's out for a walk. You want some tea? Coffee? Food?"

Sirius brushed past Remus, pausing on his way in to pinch Remus's cheeks obnoxiously. "My sweet little Moonshine! How considerate, takin' care've me. Whip me up a five course meal, will ya?"

It was easy to ignore Sirius. Remus had plenty of practice.

"Coffee, sure. Maybe some food, if you're makin' it. Couldn't much stomach anythin' earlier, but probably _should_ eat, aye?"

"Should, yeah. Sop up those toxins from all that firewhiskey. Should I remind you--"

"--that I climbed on the table during my toast and told everyone James's cock is huge, not as big as mine, 'course, because few have one as big as mine, and expressed my deepest condolences to the Evans' family while singing to the tune of _My Sharona?_ Also remember something about pullin' my trousers--"

"--well, not quite what I was referring to, but that was memorable. No, was _going_ to remind you of your promise?"

Sirius didn't remember. Remus sighed.

"I thought that's why you were here."

Sirius still didn't remember; but that sounded an awful lot like him. Drunken promises were his M.O. and holding him to them was Remus's. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes the color of nickel bulging enough to convey that he wanted Remus to _continue._

"Alright, sit down. I'll make you some toast and eggs. Sausage, too? No?" 

"Sausage too, he asks."

"You're lucky I like you."

* * *

"You're really not goin' to tell me what I promised? How the hell am I goin' to fulfill a promise I don't remember promising?"

Remus shrugged, his back to Sirius as he rinsed off their plates in the sink, using a soapy sponge to scrub stuck-on egg. He set the clean dishes in the drying rack and rotated to face Sirius again.

"You'll remember eventually."

"How can you be so goddamn sure? Why are you so--" Sirius waved his hands exaggeratedly in front of Remus's face. "Mystical? Like a goddamn-- _mystic_."

Remus snorted. "Oi, _shut_ up. We going somewhere then?"

"Well, I wanted to go to a bookstore," Sirius said.

"Really? Why?"

"Well. 'Cause I want to read, Remus," Sirius replied sarcastically, shooting Remus a coy grin.

"Oi. You read?" Remus questioned cheekily.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised."

"Alright, mate," Remus grinned. "C'mon, then. I know the perfect place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo! How goes it? Thanks so much for reading as always :) I hope you like it!


	4. Catcher in the Rye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus pick up a book that Remus has been insisted Sirius read since second year.

"I can't believe you _never_ read Catcher in the Rye, Sirius."

Sirius turned the book over in his hands, studying the red and cream cover. It did _not_ look like the book that would change his life but it'd been one Remus told him he'd _absolutely love_ since second year.

"Not like I can get to a Muggle bookshop too easily," he commented, shrugging.

" _Excuses_. I would've lent you my copy," Remus insisted. Sirius was already shoving a fistful of Muggle cash into the cashier's hand. He could _not_ be assed to count it out; though, in truth, he played a little dumb in front of Remus, and, quite frankly, it hardly fooled his friend. Sirius was _known_ to disobey his family, to revel in Muggle culture because not only did he _like it,_ but because he knew it'd piss off little old mum, and he lived for nothing if not shaming the family name.

Five minutes later, the pair exited the shop with bags in hand.

"I know you read, Pads," Remus said conversationally.

"I know you know I read," Sirius replied. "What of it?"

"Don't know what you gotta act like-- like it's so _uncool_ or whatever. Like it's beneath you. Like you're such a _bad boy_ you can only focus on motorbikes and leather jackets and shagging as many birds as you can get your grimy fingers on."

Through the reprimand, Remus shot him a sideways glance, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"Mm, well, nothin' better'n bikes and birds, mate. Gotta take a leaf out've my _book,_ if you will," Sirius teased. His black, leather boots clapped against filthy concrete. Muggle London reeked of petrol, of piss, of garbage, of cooking food filling the air from nearby restaurants; and it was a scent Sirius adored. Getting lost in the city surrounded by strangers and things he could not understand, it was who he _was_.

Remus's eyes, the color of dragon scales, stared ahead and he said nothing.

* * *

"You swear you're going to read it?"

"Remus, I just spent money on this. I'm the one who suggested going to the goddamn bookstore. ' _Course_ I'm going to read it."

"Alright. Brilliant. Tell me what you think."

"I wouldn't dream of not."

"You want to come in?"

Sirius considered for a moment, but it was getting late in the afternoon. He was hungry and his hangover, though _mostly_ gone, still made him fuzzy around the edges in a way he did not like.

"Shouldn't, mate. Got shit to do. But I'll start this later," he promised, holding up the bag that contained the book he'd just bought.

"You better."

"Yes, sir."

Sirius winked and turned on his heel before he disapparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short, I know! I just haven't written this in a while and want to get more into it :) I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Thank you for reading my work :) This is one of my first real fics! I hope that you can find some enjoyment out of this!


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